Madame Midas eBook

The doctor did not take any notice of this sneer,
but, putting his hands in his pockets, faced round
to the young man.

‘I give my evidence to-morrow,’ he said
quietly, looking keenly at the young man, ’and
I prove conclusively the woman was poisoned. To
do this, I must refer to the case of Adele Blondet,
and then that implicates you.’

‘Pardon me,’ observed Vandeloup, coolly,
removing some ash from his velvet coat, ‘it
implicates Octave Braulard, who is at present,’
with a sharp look at Gollipeck, ‘in New Caledonia.’

‘If that is the case,’ asked the doctor,
gruffly, ‘who are you?’

‘I am the friend of Braulard,’ said Vandeloup,
in a measured tone. ’Myself, Braulard,
and Prevol—­one of the writers of the book
you refer to—­were medical students together,
and we all three emphatically knew about this poison
extracted from hemlock.’

He spoke so quietly that Gollipeck looked at him in
a puzzled manner, not understanding his meaning.

‘Exactly,’ assented M. Vandeloup, with
an airy wave of his hand. ’Gaston Vandeloup
is a fictitious third person I have called into existence
for my own safety—­you understand. As
Gaston Vandeloup, a friend of Braulard, I knew all
about this poison, and manufactured it in Ballarat
for a mere experiment, and as Gaston Vandeloup I give
evidence against the woman who was my mistress on the
ground of poisoning Selina Sprotts with hemlock.’

‘You are not shielding yourself behind this
girl?’ asked the doctor, coming close to him.

‘How could I?’ replied Vandeloup, slipping
his hand into his pocket. ’I could not
have gone down to St Kilda, climbed over a wall with
glass bottles on top, and committed the crime, as Kitty
Marchurst says it was done. If I had done this
there would be some trace—­no, I assure
you Mademoiselle Marchurst, and none other, is the
guilty woman. She was in the room—­Madame
Midas asleep in bed. What was easier for her
than to pour the poison into the glass, which stood
ready to receive it? Mind you, I don’t say
she did it deliberately—­ impulse—­hallucination—­madness—­what
you like—­but she did it.’

‘By God!’ cried Gollipeck, warmly, ’you’d
argue a rope round the girl’s neck even before
she has had a trial. I believe you did it yourself.’

‘If I did,’ retorted Vandeloup, coolly,
’when I am in the witness-box I run the risk
of being found out. Be it so. I take my chance
of that; but I ask you to keep silent as to Gaston
Vandeloup being Octave Braulard.’

‘Why should I?’ said the doctor, harshly.

‘For many admirable reasons,’ replied
Vandeloup, smoothly. ’In the first place,
as Braulard’s friend, I can prove the case against
Mademoiselle Marchurst quite as well as if I appeared
as Braulard himself. In the next place, you have
no evidence to prove I am identical with the murderer
of Adele Blondet; and, lastly, suppose you did prove
it, what satisfaction would it be to you to send me
back to a French prison? I have suffered enough
for my crime, and now I am rich and respectable, why
should you drag me back to the depths again?
Read “Les Miserables” of our great Hugo
before you answer, my friend.’